


Flounder

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [239]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Mary, at the very least Post-Reichenbach, could be post Season 3, they are just idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:41:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>flounder: verb: FLOUN-der: struggle mentally; show or feel great confusion.</p><p>late 16th century: perhaps a blend of founder and blunder or perhaps symbolic, fl- frequently beginning words connected with swift or sudden movement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flounder

John had thought he had known everything about the man who sat in front of him, but with just three words, three tiny, itty-bitty words at that, words he had never said to anyone before, he had surprised them both. Which, at first, he thought was odd, Sherlock was rarely ever surprised by anyone or anything. He always seemed a bit ahead of everyone; of course, that was before. No. NO. He shook his head, attempting to focus on the present, the unique moment that he had created, completely devoid of ceremony or anything resembling slightly romantic. Quite matter-of-fact, actually, perhaps that could explain his flatmate's reaction; after all, the words had slipped out a bit accidentally.

"I finished up the latest blog post, if you want to proofread it for grammar, typos or the normal egregious flowery bits; I'm heading to the shops, milk, tea, biscuits, beans, text me if you need anything else, I love you."

"Uhm, pickles...out of...what?" Sherlock muttered from the couch.

John turned back to see his friend and flatmate flounder for words. He ran back through his words aloud, "...milk, tea, biscuits, beans, text me if you need anythi- Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"Problem?"

John watched as Sherlock threw his lanky legs over the side of the couch, ruffled his hair and stopped; he simply stopped, as if the mechanisms that ran his internal workings had suddenly forgotten how to do what they normally did. John narrowed his eyes trying to determine if he could see the rise and fall of his chest. He quietly walked over to the couch, knelt in front of him, and took his friend's hand in his.

"Breathe?"

"I - I am, at least I think that still works. Everything else, not so sure about at the moment. Honestly, you could give a bloke some warning."

"It surprises you so much? Really?" John managed to grin at him, though bit his lip, not quite sure what he should do next, he honestly had no plans for what he would do if he ever let the cat out of the bag.

Sherlock finally opened his eyes and John almost stifled a gasp, as he raised a trembling hand to wipe a tear from the detective's face. "I - uhm, hmm. I had always hoped, but I was afraid, that you couldn't possibly want me in the way that I - "

"I never said anything because I thought you could tell, you always seemed to know everything about me, so I assumed you were, I don't know, happy with things as they stood, you just tolerated my, uhm, feelings for the sake of - "

Sherlock sighed and recovered a bit of his normal 'the lone genius in a sea of morons' posturing, before he took John's hand in his and kissed the inside of his wrist.

"Oh." They managed together. 

"I have an experiment I should be working on, could you also get some bleach? A gallon or two?" Sherlock seemed to have rebooted all systems and things were back as they had been two minutes earlier.

"Pickles...what kind of pickles...?"

"I liked that kind you found last time, the garlic ones, I love you too."


End file.
